







O^ * * <r "> \V G^ \ v V^ ' 










THE 



CURSE OP BUNAE. 



THE 



uv£t 0f Burnt t 



AND OTHER POEMS. 



BY 



GEORGE BLAIR KENNEDY. 

ii 



None but an Author knows an Author's earei, 
Or Fancy's fondness for the child she bears. 

Cowpxa, 



JEDBURGH: 

PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR. 
1822. 







GIFT 
CttU. JAMES S. CHILDERSJ 
'^ JULY 2S, 1944 



% 



M 

} 



I V<fV 



?3 



TO 

THE MOST NOBLE 

THE 

MARQUIS OF LOTHIAN, 

THE FOLLOWING 

POEMS, 

ARE RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED 
BY HIS LORDSHIP'S MOST OBEDIENT SEBVAHT f 

THE AUTHOR, 



FKEFACE. 



In this age of poetical fame, it is diffi- 
cult for a Tyro to reach even a com- 
mon place of excellence. The press of 
our own country alone teems with the 
works of men calculated to improve 
and delight an admiring world. Those , 
therefore, who write for the public, 
must write well, or be forgotten. The 
Author of this little Work is aware 
that it demands an apology. To those 
few friends, indeed, who have seen and 
approved of it, none may be necessary ; 



Vlll 

but to others who may peruse it with 
an eye somewhat more inclined to cri- 
ticism than that of the soft forgiving 
look of friendship, it may be necessary 
to mention, that it was composed at a 
time of life when the youthful Imagi- 
nation indulged in her gayest, wildest, 
dreams without restraint, and when 
young Ambition had not yet hinted 
the most distant idea of publication. 

If ever the Author felt the desire of 
feme, so natural and so dear to the 
youthful poet, maturer judgment tells 
him that he has but little to expect 
from the present production. He can 
lay claim to no higher education than 
what is commonly acquired at the school 
of his native village, and to no higher 



CONTENTS 



PAGE* 

The Curse of Dunae 15 

Address to Sleep 38 

Stanzas 40 

To Miss 42 

The Can* of Fairniehirst .' 45 

To Memory 55 

To 58 

Ellen 60 

Song 82 

Song 84 

ToMissM'D— — 86 

The Maniac Mother 88 

Song. To Miss 97 

Lines written on a Visit to the Monument 
Erected in Commemoration of the Battle 

of Waterloo, on Pen ielheugh Hill. . 99 



Xll 

Song 105 

Edmund and Ellen 105 

Song. To Miss — .... 126 

Birth-Day Lines .128 

The Death of Abel 131 

The Wish . ., ~"l 139 

To Fancy 142 

Lines on Revisiting my Native Village . 146 

The Farewell. To ... 159 

" When shall we three meet again" . . 163 

The Old Willow 165 

Song 173 

An Evening Wish, 175 

To Hope . 178 



THE 



CURSE OF DUNAE, 



L 

1 rtE twilight had closed on a wintry night, 
And the taper was throwing its tremulous light 
O'er the head of the lady of proud Dunae, 
As her kindred were watching her spirit's decay ! 
The couch is spread, and the shaft is sped, 
And the mourners are gather'd around her bed, 
But the spirit has not yet pass'd away— 
In that dark deep eye there is still a ray— 



i 



14 THE CURSE OF BTTNAE. 



The cheek of the lady is pale and wan, 

And her lips are moving, but not to man j 

Some unseen spirit is hovering near, 

For her words are not meant for mortal ear : 

And ever she raises her hand on high, 

As if shading some form from her darken'd eye ! 

She forgot in that moment that aught was near, 

Save the spirit, which none but herself may hear, 

For the mourners were dumb and amazed with fear. 

They scarce dared breathe— but transfixed they stand, 

As awaiting the touch of the magic wand— 

None deem'd it a dream of the sleepless brain, 

Or the words that she utterM, were utter'd in vain \ 

And each secretly mutter'd the half-form'd prayer, 

For they felt that the spirit of darkness was there ! 



THE CURSE OF DUNAE. 15 

Eye gazed upon eye with a tremulous fear, 
As fitful her words fell on their ear ; 
And each kindred face some feeling expressed, 
Of the presence of that unhallow'd guest ! 

II. 

The lady has woke from her wild, wild trance ) 

But the fire is unearthly that beams in her glance — 

She call'd on her page— her page is there : 

11 Go, hie thee in haste to the lord of Dalswaire, 

Tell him, the lady of proud Dunae 

Is laid on the bed where her father's lay j 

And her eye will be dim ere the hour of night , 

When the moon shines down from her topmost height, 

Her lips will be shut, and her cheek be pale ; 

But it must not be till he hears a tale 



IS TliE CURSE OF DUNAE. 

That has hung on my heart till it withered away : 

He must hear the Curse that has dwelt on Dunae ! 

'Tis a deadly curse— 'tis a curse of wrath— 

But away— the lightning will guide thy path." 

The page is gone — though the night was chill, 

And the winds of the heaven were raging at will, 

He stopped not, nor staid, till the high Dalswaire 

Arose like a cloud in the darken'd air, 

Made bright by the gleam of the lightning's glare. 

The bridge is lower'd, and the portal pass'd. 

And he enters the hall with greetings of haste, 

Nor stops to partake of their courtesy free, 

Or the cheer of their hospitality. 

His errand admitted of brief delay— 

u Go, greet thy lord from the dame of Dunae 



THE CUKSE OF DTJNAE, 17 

With tidings of woe — for the shaft is sped, 
And her kindred are gathered around her bed, 
Her eye will be dim, and her cheek be wan 
Ere the moon in her zenith looks down upon man 5 
But there is a secret of wonder and woe 
Which the lord of Dalswaire alone must know j 
'Tis a deadly curse— and she cannot rest, 
For spirits are hovering around her unblest.' 1 

III. 

Dalswaire and the page are on their way, 
And they've reach' d the towers of the dark Dunae 5 
And they stand by the bed of the dying dame, 
But she sees them not— for the darkened flame 



IS the CURSE OF DtWAB. 

Of the eye, that shone wild as the meteor's light, 
Is shaded in death's approaching night ! 
He takes her hand— bat her pulse is cold, 
And ebbing, and low, yet she feels his hold ; 
And raises her eye with a ghastly glare, 
As if fearful that something unearthly was there ! 
But the glance of the lord and the lady met 9 
And the eye beamM wild that lately seem'd set, 
And she shook like the leaf of the aspen tree, 
"When blown by the breeze of the summer free. 
— " The hour is nigh— shall the tale be told ? 
It must— it must— ere these lips be cold—' 
She waved her hand— there is none to hear 
The words that would thrill the bosom with fear ; 



THE CURSE OF DtJNAE. Id 

For her kindred are gone at her warning sign, 
And the priest has retired with the cross divine ! 
For prayer or penance would she none, 
For a crime which penance could not atone ! 
Her doom was fixM— and their prayers were vain, 
And served but to madden her feverish brain ! 
From her sleepless pillow she raised her head, 
And Dalswaire bends low in wonder and dread 5 
And she murraur'd the curse, which no mortal swighfc 

hear, 
Without feelings of dread— 'twas a curse of fear, 

IV. 

— " Twelve years are gone since my son in his pride 
Returned in the blood of the infidel dyed— * 



20 THE CURSE OF DT7NAE. 

Return' d for to bless his mother's eye, 

With the well-won wreaths of an Eastern sky. 

With him you came— -we then were all gay, 

No spirit had power o'er the house of Dunae •> 

This heart was then free from that curse of sin, 

And peace was without, and joy within $ 

There was revelling and mirth in his father's hall, 

For the chief's return was hail'd by all $ 

And he was the gayest among the gay, 

For his heart was light as the smile of day. 

Five years of peril in war and storm 

Had thrown a change o'er his youthful form > 

The light free step of his native pride 

Was changed for the warrior's martial stride j 






THE CURSE OF DUNAE. 21 

And his cheek was tinged with a darker hue, 
And his eye seem'd set in a deeper blue ; 
But the smile was there — 'twas the smile of love, 
As bright and as pure as an angel's above ! 
And brightly it glow'd, as he warmly press' d 
His sister's form to his mail-clad breast- 
He had left her a pale and weakly child, 
Than the summer's eve more gentle and mild " y 
But he found her more fair than the opening hue 
Of the rose, when met with the morning dew* 
The only stems of our ancient race, 
Were the youthful chief and this maiden of grace 5 
And they to me were as stars of light, 
Which shone o'er the gloom of my widow'd night, 
b2 



22 THE CURSE OF DUNAE. 

In the beams of joy, day dawn'd after day, 
And night fell in peace on the halls of Dunae - 7 
But a cloud was lowering, and soon it fell, 
How deadly and deep, this heart can tell* 

V. 

" The Chieftain of Moy was our house's foe, 

Betwixt us a river of blood did flow, 

And the lasting feud of an ancient date 

Had fix'd in our bosoms a mortal hate : 

He had one daughter, as fair to see 

As the opening flowers of the summer free : 

Her large dark eyes of the hazel hue, 

Were like stars engemm'd with a silvery dew ^ 



XHB CURSE OF DUWAB. $3 

And her glossy ringlets of golden hair, 
Waved over a brow as polished and fair 
As the marble of heaven's own sacred pile ;— 
And there was a gladness in her smile 
Which betoken'd a heart all pure within, 
Untainted with sorrow, and free from sin* 
Each gift of the maid was a curse to me, 
For Dunae had beheld her in beauty free, 
As a gifted spirit on earth array'd, 
And his bosom burn'd for the lovely maid, 
He loved her, DalswaLe, and 'twas madness to me. 
To think that the daughter of Moy should he 
The bride of my son— as a light to shine 
Where the blood of our kindred flowM red a« the 
wine! 



24 THE CURSE OF DUNAE. 

My father's proud spirit swell'd high in my breast, 
And the demon of discord awoke from his rest, 
And fann'd in my bosom the maddening flame, 
Till the withering thought as a curse became , 
And I calPd on the spirits of darkness to blight 
The beauty of this fair maiden of light. 

VI. 

" Not far from Dunae, in a lonely glen, 

Where spirits unseen held converse with men, 

A wizard lived, of a dreaded power — 

I sought the glen-— 'twas a cursed hour ! 

But a feeling which spurn'd at nature's controul, 

Impelled me on to the fatal goal. 



THE CURSE OF DUNAE. 25 

No sun e'er shone on the lonely pile, 

And 'twas darken'd from heaven's approving smile ! 

No mortal e'er sought his wild abode, 

Save those to renounce their faith in God ! 

And he smiled on me with a withering ray, 

For he knew the curse that was doom'd for Dunae I 

— * Thou wizard of power ! by thy magic tell 

What sleeps unreveal'd in thy secret spell ? 

Shall the river of blood run dry that was shed ? 

Shall my son with the maiden of Moy e'er wed ? 

Shall the feud be forgot— and the halls of Dunae 

Wave bright in the splendour of bridal array ? ' 

He spoke three words — they were words of might, 

And a spirit arose in the shade of night :— 



26 THE CTJRSE OF DUNAE. 

" The river of blood runs feeble and dry, 
*' The bed is array'd where the bride shall lie j 
" The feud is forgot — and the halls of Dunae 
u Shall wave in the splendour of bridal array ."— - 
That moment the fate of the maiden was seal'd, 
I call'd on the spirit, in madness, to yield 
The magic spell of unearthly power % y 
And my faith was seal'd in that fatal hour* 
I spoke the words, and the spirit obey'd— 
I call'd him to curse the devoted maid, 
To blight the hope of the house of Moy f 
And change unto sorrow her bridal joy !— 
It could not be— he had not the power 
To dim the light of our foeman's bower \ 



THE CURSE OF DUNAE. 27 

Her fate was entwined with our house for ever, 

And the chief and the maiden no curse could sever— 

My son must fall — if the maiden fell 5 

And vain was the power of my deadly spell. 

Already in fancy I saw the maid 

In the bridal pomp of Dunae array'd j 

I beheld her seated in haughty pride, 

And her lover and kinsmen Were at her side \ 

They stood on the spot where my brother fell, 

And I mutter'd the deadliest curse of hell ! 

Dalswaire, in that moment I seal'd the fate 

Of the son of my bosom— the child of my hate ! 

And the demon pronounced with a horrid delight, 

The words of power that each joy could blight* 



1 



/ 28 



THE CURSE OF DUNAE. 



VII. 

li Three times had the evening bell been rung 
Since the curse was pronounced that over them hung : 
The fourth-— and the maiden lies stretch'd 'neatli the 

pall, 
And the mournful tapestry waves dim through the hall : 
The fourth — and the chieftan of proud Dunae 
Lies calm in the slumber of nature's decay ; 
And sorrow is breathing where late all was joy, 
For the pride of Dunae and the daughter of Moy ! 
I dared not endure the sight to see, 
Of my son in his mortal agony : 
I had left the tower — but a spirit came— » 
I knew the rest—and my heart became 



THE CURSE OF DTJNAE. 29 

Soften 'd to all a mother's heart, 
And I writhed 'neath a deep and a deadly smart— 
Oh God ! how I wish'd in that moment that they 
Could awake from the slumber of nature's decay. 

VIII. 

" Three months—they were longer than ages to me— 

Had gone $ and nature was blooming free 

Ere the tower of my fathers arose on my sight, 

But their seem'd to hang o'er it a cloud of the night ) 

My heart sunk low, yet no eye might see 

The inward spirit that dwelt in me. 

I left the hall when each heart was high, 

I return'd— and my welcome was sorrow's sigh ) 



30 THE CURSE OF DtWAB. 

Each eye was dim, and each cheek was pale y 
Bat they knew not aught of the deadly tale. 
The tapestry still waved in the dark, dark hall, 
And there was a sadness of sorrow in all, 
Which darken'd, as day's departing smile, 
Beam'd faintly and dim on the lonesome pile. 
The evening was clad in her mantle of grey, 
And the streaks of the twilight were melting away 
To a lovely scene of a sober hue, 
Till it darkened and faded on the view 5 
No sound was heard in our lonely hall, 
And there was a silence which reign'd o'er all 
I could not rest — for the death-like calm 
Which fell on the heart, as a heavenly balm, 



THE CURSE OF DUNAE. 31 

Was more dreadful to me than the thunder's roar, 

For it woke each feeling that slumbered before : 

A sacred dread o'er my spirit stole, 

And I felt the maddening fever of soul — 

I thought on my son ! on the maiden of Moy ! 

On the curse, which could thus in a moment destroy ! 

On my faith to hell ! till my brain became 

One burning mass of a withering flame ! 

I call'd, Dalswaire, on my son to arise, 

And bless once more his mother's eyes ; 

I look'd, O God J and beheld him there, 

And at his side stood a lady fair ! — 

The death-like calm of her forehead high, 

The ray less beams of her deep dark eye, 



52 THE CURSE OF DUNAE. 

The pale mute lips, for no breath was there, 

The cheek as pale, and the form of air, 

Was more than this eye could calmly see \ 

• Twas a moment of wildest agony ! — . 

She press'd her clay-cold cheek to mine, 

And I thrill'd as if 'neath a serpent's twine } 

Mine eyes grew dim, and I sunk away, 

As she breathed the curse on the house of Dunae ! 

1 felt one moment — then all was past -, — 

For days and months did my madness last -> 

1 knew no more — 'twas a vision all, 

And nature was veil'd 'neath a wintry pall. 

Ere I woke, my daughter was o'er me bending, 

And I heard the prayer from her lips ascending > 



THE CUBSE OF DTJNAE. 35 

'Twas a prayer for me — but she knew not, Dalswaire, 

That a curse was here, that mock'd her prayer. 

I miirmurM her name — she was press'd to my heart* 

And she clung as if fearful again to part*; 

She was pale and bent like a lovely shade, 

Ere its fleeting form on the sight doth fade \ 

And scarce one portion of earth was there, 

She was so calm and so deadly fair ; 

She had sat by my couch till she wither 1 d away, 

And I woke but to witness her silent decay. 

With a spirit untired, she o'er me had hung, 

My name on her lips, and the prayer on her tongue \ 

But she faded, and vain was a mother's care, 

Though my last sole hope was center'd there * y 



34 THE CURSE OF DUNAE. 

Like a flower on its stem, she was fading away, 

So calm and so placid she sunk to decay ; 

But a smile still beam'd in her mild blue eye j— 

Like the parting streak of a summer sky, 

She smiled — in death's chilly embrace, she smiled, 

And bade me hope — and my tears beguiled - 7 

But day after day she became more weak, 

And the pale rose fled her paler cheek, 

And the thick'ning film dilated grew 

Around her eye of heavenly blue : 

She took my hand — but her's was cold 

As the marble's touch in my phrenzied hold 7 

She press'd it against her throbbing breast, 

It beat one moment — then sunk to rest ! — 



THE CURSE OF DUKAK. 55 

Her gentle spirit had pass'd away, 
And I held in my hand the mortal clay 
Of the last fair stem of the proud Dunae ! 

IX 
11 'Twas then, Dalswaire, that the curse of heaven, 
In its deadliest force, to my heart was given, 
Till it wither'd each feeling of hope and fear, 
And left in my bosom its blackenM sear ! 
Thus years roil'd on — but to me they brought 
No change of feeling, no change of thought, 
For the deadly curse was a blight to all, 
And it hung like a cloud o'er this lonely hall : 
From that fatal moment, till now, Dalswaire, 
I have lived unblest — there was madness in prayer. 



56 THE CURSE OF tffclNAE* 

A spirit of darkness still hover'd nigh ', 
And see ! it is there to behold me die ! 
Away ! dark spirit, it ne'er shall be . . * 
The dame of Dunae in her death shall be free !— 
It mocks me ! and see, the pale maiden of Moy 
Grins o'er my last gasp with a feeling of joy •,— 
She curses me too ! but her curses are vain- 
She knows not, she feels not, the fire of this brain ! 
It burns to madness . . . Dunae too is there ! 
He is cursing his mother ... in mercy forbear ! 
They are twining around me, their grasp is the grave ! 
They are dragging me with them! — Dalswaire, ... oh, 

save ! n 
—Her hands were entwined and imploringly raised, 
The features grew dark and her eyes dim and glazed, 



THE CUBSE OF DUNAE. 37 

She quiver'd a moment— life's struggle is past ; 
And the dame of Dunae has breathed her last ! 

X. 

There was heard a voice in that awful hour, 

A voice of more than mortal power , 

It rung o'er the turrets of dark Dunae, 

And the hall was brighten'd as bright as day ! 

The priest in that moment forgot his prayer, 

For kindred, and priest, and Dalswaire, are there ! 

They heard but the sound — they saw but the light— 

'Twas a moment— the hall is as dark as night ! 

The voice is gone— and a curse for aye 

> 
Hangs over the towers of the dark Dunae. 



ADDRESS TO SLEEP. 



Why, gentle Sleep, dost thou fly the bed 
Where the heart of sorrow is lone reclining f 

Why shun the couch where the form is laid 

Of the wretch who has long in woe been pining ? 

Must the dim ■eye. 'of- Sorrow for ever gaze 

On each dreary night, and still cheerless morrow ? 

Wilt thou ne'er, on my couch shed thy soothing rays 
To wile one short hour from an age of sorrow ? 



ADDRESS TO SLEEP. o9 

Thou hoverest around the couch of the gay, 

Where the blessings of love and of peace delight 
thee j 

But on misery's eye there falls not a ray, 

And thou fliest the form that would fain invite thee. 

Oh, leave for a moment the bed of the blest, 
And repose upon that where a wretch is sighing; 

And together we'll sink to a heavenly rest, 
As calm as the sleep of the holy when dying. 



STANZAS. 

Once more, sweet shade, beneath thy lone retreat, 
Thy bard reclines from care, from trouble free % 

Once more his eye each early scene doth greet, 
Whilst pensive memory fondly turns to thee. 

Here, first the Muse her smiling gifts display'd, 
And threw the witching charm around my heart $ 

Brighten'd with glowing hues thy lovely shade, 
And mix'd with mtureV beauty— kindred art. 



STANZAS* 41 

Here, first I pour*d my simple artless tale, 

And hail'd the smile of sweetly answering love \ 
\ Prest to my heart the fairest flower of Ale, 
And swore no other form should hers remove. 

i Since that loved hour, the storm hath o'er thee past ? 
I 

But thou art still unchanged to love, to me 5 
Still from the summer's heat, the winter's blast, 
I turn to pour my simple lay to thee* 



TO MISS 



M.ARIOJST, what means that tearful eye ? 

Why is thy rosy cheek so pale ? 
Why heaves thy bosom with the sigh, 

Like gentle flowers in summer's gale ? 

Weep'st thou the loss of pleasures fled ? 
Or fancy's dreams that charm no more I 

Or are thy tears in sorrow shed- 
Dost thou some tender friend deplore f 



TO MISS 45 l 

From blighted love, from secret woe, 

From pangs the heart would fain conceal y 

From deep remorse, they cannot flow, 
Tears are not shed by such as feel. 

They cannot find in tears relief, 

Or if they could, it might not be r 
None e'er must share their bosoms 7 grief 9 

Or see their bosoms* misery a 

But thou, dear maid, hast never known., 
And never, never may'st thou know 

The heart's lone state, when all is gone. 
That made the heart in rapture glow, 



44 



TO MISS 



Oh, never may'st thou live to see 

Such grief as theirs, which mock relief ^ 

But may thy tears, dear Marion, be 
The emblems of a softer grief. 



And whilst they fall, may friendship dear, 
With " meek-eyed pity/* sweet combine, 

To pay thee for each bitter tear, 

"With love, with peace, with bliss divine. 



THE 

CARR OF FAIRNIEHIRST 



Mis Fairniehirst Hall, there is banqueting all, 
And the blood-wine shines sparkling and free y 

The dame's beaming eye, with delight flashes high.) 
And the warriors are joyous to see. 

The Carr loudly laughM, as he -merrily- qimftVi 
* A pledge to the bishop's bright wine'— 

u We had fared but amiss, if his cellar lack'4 thi^ 
So the pledge to the bishop be mine,"~- 
c2_ 



i 



46 THE CARB 

The cup circled round— hark ! the trumpet's loud sound 
Swells high o'er the castle's rude wall 5 

And Fairniehirst's lord had upsprung from the board. 
Ere the warder could enter the hall : 

"Why banquet you here whilst the foemen are near?: 
Whilst the Southeroa doth harry and ride ? 

The beacon is red on the Dunian's lone head, 
And from Smaylhome it blazes wide." 

— " Ho ! saddle my steed ! Let us mount with speed 

Up, up, my brave friends, and away ! 
If we sleep to-night, we will lack the sight- 

Of an hundred steeds ere day. 









OF FA-IR2HEIH-RST. 47 

u The beacon shines bright on the Dunian's height, 
And it blazes from Smaylhome high ; 

They are friendly towers, be the conquest ours,— « 
Up ! haste gallants, up ! ere they fly.?,V 

With one loud accord; they arose from the board 5 
And the last cup was quaff 'd on their knee } 

'Twas a partingto those who might fall 'gainst the foes 3 
*Twas a pledge that they faithful would be* 

" Away then! away-— well return ere day $- 
Our dames in our triumph shall share"— - 

They left the hall, and 'twas silence all,, 
But the chief and his lady are there* 






48 THE CABB 

But yet not a word doth she say to her lord ; 

No embrace answers his in reply j 
Her mind soars away to those bright realms of day, 

Where the future reflected doth lye. 

« 
" What, Margaret ! what ho ! wilt thou bliss me ere 

I go, 
Awake from this trance love and say; 
Shall the Carr in midst of fight, still remain unhurt 
by might ? 
Shall he come, my dame, in triumph ere the 
day?"— 






OP FAIRNIEHIRST. 49 

u Thy day, thy hour, Is come, if this night thou leav'st 
thy home, 

Let the Southerons ride or harry as they may: 
I saw the foes engage, I beheld the battle's rage, 

And the Can remain the victor of the day. 

u Their triumph is high, but the wild anxious eye 

Of the victors is gazing around \ 
And pale, pale and low, circled deep by the foe,, 

The corpse of their chieftain is found. 

" I heard the wild wail born loud on the gale. 
With the shrieks of the dying it rose ^ 

Then stay, my lord, stay, they'll depart ere the day., 
Let this night be a night of repose." 



50 THE CAKB 

" 'Tis thy love makes thee blind ! O, thy heart is too 
kind, 

And would thus keep me ever at home j 
Could I slumber in bed, whilst my kinsmen they bled PI 

Whilst our foemen in triumph do roam-! 

"No, the sword of the Carr must be foremost in war/ 

And hallow'd in blood of the slain ! 
I'll return ere long,— let thy maids raise the song 

For to welcome the victors again." — 

u Nay, nay! thou must not go, my lord !— - 

There's a sight that I may not see : 
Near an empty shroud, an owlet sings loiwL* 

And a grave is dug for thee : 



OF FAIRNIEHIRST, 51 . 

11 And near that grave, a priest doth standi . 

And he looks with an anxious eye - 7 
And the worm now around, seems list'ning for a 
sound, 

Then crawls to the spot where thou'lt lye."- — 

" I must not give heed to these wild words of dread^ 

My kinsmen are up and away - 7 
The Carr must not shrink on the battle's bloody brink,, 

His soul loves the foray and the fray."— 

He turn'd from the hall, whilst the lady loud did call, 
And he mounted his bay bright steed $ 

His helmet blazing bright, reflected back the- light? 
As he spurr'd his proud courser to speed, 



52 THE CABE 

Hie dame's wild cry on the breeze came by, 

And he murmur'd a fond adieu ! 
But he dared not stay, be his fate what may, 

Be her visions false or true, 

u The Carr may die, but he may not fly 
When the foemen are ranging wide—" 

He spurr'd his steed to its swiftest speed, 
Till he .gam'-d his clansmen's side ^ 

And there by the light of the beacon bright, 

He beheld the English nigh 5 
And the shade that had dwelt on his brow seem'd to 
melt 

Like the shades of a summer sky*— 



OF FAIRNIEHIRST." 55 

The battle rages wide, and the Teviot's flowing tide 
Sparkles bright with a blood-red stain j 

The English swords are keen, but the Carres is sharp, 
I ween, 
And he strews his bloody bier with the slain. 

His sword is blazing high, now they waver, now they fly, 
And the Carrs are pressing hard as they go *,— 

The dame had seen aright— they are victors in the fight, 
But the chief lies circled deep with the foe. 

Loud rose the wail on the morning gale, 
As they climbed near the Dunian's height y 

And the minstrel's song came floating along,. 
For the chief who had fallen in fight : 



-:. «*«_._ ^mM 



5# THE CARR OF FAIRNIEHIRST. 

" Oh, bright was the path of the warrior," he sung; 

He died like a chief in his pride ! 
He died like a Carr in the hottest of war, 

Whilst his foemen lay strew'd by his side ! 

" But the fame of his might, and his deeds in the fight, 
Will blaze o'er his tomb broad and high j 

The minstrel will tell how in triumph he felt ! 
He died as a warrior should die/' 



TO 



MEMORY. 



When busy Memory from her restless bed* 
Recals the hours of woe or pleasure fled, 
The heart awakes to childhood's simple hour, 
When fairy Fancy wove our gilded bower, 
When the fond mother sung us to repose, 
And fann'd each opening grace that sweetly rose, 

Now o'er the green the busy fancy plays, 

And all the schoolboy's gambols,. sports, pourtrays 5 






56 TO MEMORY.- 

Oh, these are days on which the heart may dwell 
With fondest recollection— for they tell 
Of hours of joy, of pleasures ever dear, 
Unstain'd as yet by Sorrow's deeper tear. 

G happy days I When with thy sports we part, 
How changed appears the lately ardent heart? 
The stripling's strength just ripening into man, 
Feels new emotions with each varied plan, 
Forgets thy scenes amid a gayer train, 
Partakes their fleeting pleasures*— deeper pain ! 

The friends we loved— recalled to Fancy's view, 
Appear again in Friendship's brightest hue $ 



'TO 'MEMORY. 57 

The faithless too, in treacherous garb array'd, 
The fickle friend, and false deceiving maid, 
Flit in our sight, destroying childhood's bliss, 
—Cease, Memory, cease, there's madness in thy kiss. 



t 



TO 



Nat, dearest fair one, weep not now^ 
I cannot, dare not, see thee weep ! 

And think upon the fatal vow 

That bids my hopes for ever sleep. 



9 Twere better that we ne'er had met, 
Than thus to part, of all bereft, 

Without one hope — save to forget 

The deadliest pang that love hath lefto 



to ___ 159 

Oh yes ! I must forget that e'er 

Thy faithless breast was press'd to mine ! 

Forget each hour of transport dear, 
When every thought reposed on thine . 

Oh, 'twas a dream of more than bliss ! 

I lived but in thy witching smile : 
The dream dissolved, I wake to this !— 

I feel, yet cannot curse the wile. 

No, no : the heart which beat for thee, 

May murmur, but it cannot chide I 
Still thou art dear— though false to me— 

More dear than all the world beside, 



ELLEN. 



E 

JMEary, again the simple votive lay- 
Breathes forth a tale of sorrows tender ray: 
A tale of one, whose every day of youth 
Glow'd in the brighten'd smile of love and truth ! 
Of one, whose heart was pure till she believed 
The vows of him who won her and deceived !— 
Abandoned, lost, fled from her father's home, 
Enduring all, behold her wildly roam, 



ELLEN. SI 

With none to pity, not an eye to see 
Where past her days of wandering misery j 
And when she came at last, she came to die, 
Amidst the scenes of early love — to lye. 
Such is the tale — 'twas told in simple truth 
By one who loved the maiden in his youth : 
He loved her, but a rival's baneful art 
Had circled round her unsuspecting heart ! 
Mary, hadst thou but heard him breathe the tale ? 
Thy cheek had grown with tender pity, pale, 
And blessM the victim of a fate severe, 
And gave her — what thou still must give-— a tear, 



6$ ELLEN* 

IL 

Fair as the fairest of the magic train,. 
That charms the poet's visionary brain- 
Fair as thyself, my Mary, Ellen grew, 
Enrich' d with all that love would fondly view ! 
Her parents 9 cot bespoke an angel there ^ 
Beneath her hand the flowerets bloomed more fair ; 
The peasant bless'd her as she cross'd the plain*; 
To sooth with tender hand the brow of pain !— 
If one was sickly, Ellen she was there , 
If any died, the sorrow she would share j 
If they were poor, her little purse supplied 
In part the wants which poverty would hide ! 
She was the village idol— -parents 9 boast !— 
And when her cheek its rosy hue had lost, 



ELLEN, 6S 

And pallid sickness stretch' d her on the bed, 
When even lingering hope itself had fled, 
Around her door the cottagers were seen, 
With tearful eye and deeply pensive mien !— 
But she grew well, her cheek regain'd its hue, 
Then to her old accustom'd haunts she flew, 
Fearful some aged villager would need 
A heart to cheer him, or a hand to feed, 

III. 

Thus pass'd her youth — her eighteenth summer came, 
Nor knew she aught of love's beguiling name : 
She loved her parents — all the village loved, 
But deeper feelings were as yet unproved ! 



i 



64 *> ELLEW. 



Her birth-day came— the villagers convene, 

And rural mirth enlivens all the scene : 

The dance is form'd along the little plain, 

And many an anxious stripling strives to gain 

Fair Ellen's hand ! — A stranger enters in ! 

He joins, he sues, as confident to win. 

She knew him not — but gave the youth her hand, 

And join'd the mazes of the giddy band. 

And who was he whose ready tongue could gain 

The lovely maid from every rural swain ? 

*Twas Bertram, heir of Morden's lordly power, 

Who joinM the pleasures of that festive hour i v . 

Graced with the art to please, he woo'd, he smiled. 

Till Ellen's simple heart was all beguiledc 



i 



ELLEN. 

Mirth reign'd the empress of that joyous day, 
And all were happy, every heart was gay. 
At length the humble villagers retire \ — 
The youthful chief is welcomed by the sire 
To share the dainties of their simple board, 
The best their little cottage could afford. 
Bertram had roved through many a varied scene^ 
In. distant countries he had lately been, 
And well he knew by many a winning art 
The power to charm the unsuspecting heart ; 
No wonder then his ready converse grew 
0ear unto oiie, who only nature kuew* 
Slien had shared fa many a village scene, 
vheir joysj and still had happy Keen § 



66 ELLEN* 

But there was something dearer in this day, 

A feeling undefined, a warmer ray — 

She knew not why — and when the youth was gone 

Each thought grew sadder and she felt alone : 

She could not rest, his form still flitted there, 

And memory all his converse dear did share $ 

And if she slept, her fancy wildly fled, 

And through the mazy dance again was led — 

Again he graced her father's simple cot, 

He was her thought, all else was now forgot y 

And yet she deem'd not love had fix'd his sway 5 

That she the lovely victim must obey ; 

She scarce dared own her feelings now were 

Than friendship oft had warmly claim'd before. 






( • 



ELLEN, 47 

IV. 

Young Bertram proved she was not all forgot, 
Scarce one day past, but he was at the cot * 7 
If on the green, or in her favourite bower, 
Bertram was there to charm the vacant hour j 
If to the village she would now repair, 
Bertram with looks of love still met her there ! 
—But why delay the hapless tale of truth? 
He press'd his love with all the warmth of youth \ 

Her heart was fondly simple and believed 

He vow'd, he won her, — won her and deceived $ 
He swore by every saint that beam'd on high, 
The happy day to claim her hand was nigh ; 
But now, he dared not own her as his bride, 
Till he had calm'd his father's ancient pride;, 



68 ELLEN. 

And bade her only for a while conceal 
The love which he himself would soon reveal ! 
And she conceal'd it : day succeeded day, 
And weeks and months as quickly pass'd away y 
Bertram, as wont, still linger'd by her side, 
Still claimM indulgence for his father's pride $ 
And bade her hope the wish'd-for hour was near, 
When they might meet without reproach or fear ! 
And she believed him — still her simple heart 
Dream'd not of falsehood in his tale of art, 

One day they met in the embowering shade, 
Even on the spot where she was first betray'd ! 



ELLEN, 69 

She begg'd him, there, to give her plighted fame 
A safer refuge in his nobler name y 
And at the altar seal the sacred vow, 
And banish fears she never felt till now. 
~-" It could not be — his father's haughty pride 
Would ne'er, 5 ' he said, " accept her as bis bride j 
He long had tried to win him to his will,, 
But he remain'd the same, unaltered still $ 
Even now, urged by his frigid stern command^ 
Another bride waits to receive my hand,, 
Her I must wed — -her fortune, rank, is great, 
And far above my Ellen's lowly state ; 
Leave then, my love, your father's simple cot> 
And I will bear yon to a gayer spot t 
It % 






70 ELLEN, 

Where, all unknown, our bliss and love we'll hide, 
Nor dread the dangers of a father's pride." — 
Lost as she was, within her bosom grew 
Feelings, first planted there by nature true \ 
And when she heard his faithless lips declare, 
And saw those vows she trusted, flit in air, 
Heard his proposal, basely, falsely, made, 
Felt her own state, — abandoned and betray'd ! 
Those feelings rose to check the heart, that dared 
Thus trample on the ruins he prepared !— 
And thus they parted — He, to join the gay, 
To banish Ellen's form and fate away : 
She, for to pine in secret and alone, 
Her first, her hapless error, to atone ; j 



JgLUSNa 






And if the prayers, the penance of a hearty 

Guileless, though guilty, and devoid of art, 

Could e'er atone for error, then might she 

Be rank'd amongst the guileless and the free t<~- 

But she grew paler, and her tender frame 

Betoken'd'.stll their mutual love and shame : 

She that was Happy, harmless, still and gay 9 

Blooming 5 neath every warmer, kinder ^ray, 

Is now grown languid, lifeless, cold to all-^ 

Nor can a father's fondest care recai 

The fading flower, or raise the stem anew $ 

It fades, it withers, on the spot it grew. 

Her parents saw not in her alter'd state 9 

A changed condition, or a guiltier fate $ 



\I**~- - 



7? ELLEKo 

Their love was blind, nor could they think that she 
To falsehood had, and must the victim be. 
—Now busy whispering Scandal's notes proclaim, 
To many an ear, young Ellen's guilt and shame y 
And Envy hail'd, with happiness, the fall 
Of her who was the pride, the boast of all ! 
But in the hearts of those who loved her well, 
There rose a feeling— which they dared not tell l 

VI. 

One month was gone, Bertram she had not seen \ 
No more as wont she bounded o'er the green h 
No more he sought her in the little bower, 
To charm with tales of love the passing hour, 



ELLEN, 75 

If to the village she would now repair, 

No more with looks of love he met her there 5 

It seem'd a dream, a wild delusion all \ 

A dream she long'd, yet shudderM to recaL 

—One day the news unto the village came, 

That Morden's heir had wed some mighty dame f 

The bridal splendour deck'd the lordly hall, 

The gay carousal and the splendid ball, 

Went circling round to grace the haughty pair, 

And many a chief of lordly power was there 1 

These news were pleasing to the village ear, 

But how the tale did hapless Ellen hear ?■ 

She spoke not, scarcely seem'd as if she knew,- 

Nor gave her sorrows to the public view & 



74 KLLEN, 

But some, who saw her visage on that day 9 
Said, it assumed a deeper, wilder ray : 
They saw her pace along the little green, 
And she was strangely alter' d in her mien ! 
And on that night, ere she retired to rest, 
Her parents' lips she with more wildness press'd ; 
And on her sisters', brothers', cheeks, there fell 
The tears of sorrow, as she sigh'd — farewell ! 
And still she linger' d, as if loth to go : 
Something was in her heart she dared not show ! 
She knelt ! they bless' d and wiped her tears away 
They saw her not again for many a day ! 
She left her father's cot on that same night, 
But where she went, none even knew arighto 



XIrLEK. 75 

They sought her long, but not a trace could find 
To guide the search of those she left behind. 
Those that her tender hand so oft had fed, 
And cheer'd, when stretch'd upon the sickly bed 9 
Now wept aloud despairing of relief, 
And then they strove to sooth her parents' grief ; 
And raised their feeble hands to heaven, and pray'd 
Their God to guide the wandering hapless maid ! — ■ 
Hope was not dead, a whispering spark was there, 
"Which said, she would return to sooth their care : 
And thus for many a day they linger' d on, 
Till hope expired, and every ray was gone^ 



76 ELLEN* 

vil 

Twelve months had pass'd, and she was still away ; 

Nor yet had grief resigned his tyrant sway : 

Stern winter raged with a terrific reign, 

And threw its terrors o'er the village plain ; 

And when the storm was loud, they fear'd that she 

Might be even the sport of misery. 

One night, the fearful storm came whistling by, 
The demon of the blast rode in the sky, 
The rain fell pouring, and it darker grew, 
And scarce the weary traveller might view 
The welcome light, to, cheer his lonely path, 
Or guide him from the storm's unfeeling wratbc 
<~- Young Ellen's father, in his little cot, 
Thought on his child — for she was ne'er, forgot f 



ELLEN, 77 

She yet might live ? where could the wanderer be f 

Had Bertram lured her from her father's knee ? 

Or did she roam the world unknown to all ? 

Unpitied and forsaken in her fall ? 

Mix'd with the storm, which now was raging high 9 

He thought he heard a feeble helpless cry - y 

And then a low and dying murmur rose, 

Like some poor wretch when near their latest close ! 

He rush'd without ! but nothing there was seen,— 

The sound had ceased — if sound had ever been y 

He sought the little plain, the garden round, 

And vainly listened for to catch the sound. 

All now was still — close by the cottage door 

There was a seat, which he had pas$'d before \ 



t S XLLKN* 

Just then the light— that from the window gleam*d 

Upon the little seat — a moment beam'd, 

And by that light he saw a figure there, 

W hose loosen'd robes were waving in the air % 

And on her breast a little child did lye, 

Who trembled as the night- wind passed them by ! 

The old man hasten'd with officious care, 

That they the comforts of his cot might share . 

He bended low to raise the form anew— 

What sight is that which meets his wondering view ? 

His own poor hapless Ellen come at last ? 

And yet she shrinks not from the bitter blast ! 

— " Rise, Ellen, rise ! come to thy father's breast ! 

Thy mother's love will sooth thee unto rest ! 



This little babe shall find a father's love $ 

And thou at last, will all our griefs remove*"— « 

Such was the welcome to her native cot,—- 

But she replies not ! Is it all forgot ? 

He took her hand — 'twas cold — no life was there i 

One loud wild shriek betoken'd his despair ! 

All heard the sound within the little cot, 

And rush'd in terror's wildness to the spot, 

And there they saw their wandering maid reclined, 

And round her form her father's arms were twined';. 

And, nestled in her bosom, lay the child, 

Whose feeble cry rose with the tempest wild. 

Where had she been f return' d even there to die f 

To breathe, 'mongst friends she loved, her parting sigh ! 



SO ELLEH. 

To sleep at last where she had happy been, 
To bless her kindred ere she closed life's scene, 
To bid to those she loved a last farewell — 
Perhaps her wanderings and her woes to tell ! 
But they sleep with her in her silent tomb, 
And we can only mourn her hapless doom ! — - 
Poor injured maid ! — accept thy poet's tear f 
Accept this tribute to thy fate severe j 
And be thy error banish' d from the mind, 
Thy love, thy virtue, only left behind, 

VIII e 

Now, Mary, can thy heart refuse the tear f 
Canst thou condemn her with a soul severe ? 



ELLE&r, 



81 



Methinks I hear thy bosom's kindred sigh y 
Methinks I see thy tender tearful eye 
Weep o'er her wrongs, and curse the cruel art, 
Who thus could blight the blossoms of that heart, 
—Mary, may no such fate be known to thee, 
But may thy days be innocent and free j 
Still gay and happy may they glide away, 
And love's bright halo gild thine opening day, 



SONG. 

1 hink'st thou dear maid, this eye could sec* 

Yet coldly pass thee by ? 
Or that this heart could turn from thee. 

And love — without a sigh ? 

Ah no : I saw thee, and that hour 

Was hallowed dear to me } 
Nor would I, though I had the power, 

Be for a moment free. 



SONG. 83 

For what to me were freedom now ? 

'Twould part my soul from thine— 
And what could cheer me, love, when thou 

Had left me to repine ? 

Give freedom to the changeful heart, 

Whose wish is to be free ; 
But oh ! be mine a tenderer part— 

A love still true to thee. 



SONG. 

mmmmmmmmmmtessz*- 

Dear maid, to other scenes I go, 
Where love and bliss are smiling j 

Where warmer beauties sweetly glow, 
With all of love's beguiling, Love y 
With all of love's beguiling* 

To find, perchance, a fairer maid, 
Whose eye than thine is brighter ', 

With cheek where dimpled love is laid, 
And form than Seraph's lighter, Love y 
And form than Seraph's lighter. 



SONG. 35 

But were she fairer far, my dear \ 

Enriched with every feeling, 
I'd turn to bless the tender tear, 

Thy pensive soul revealing, Love \ 
Thy pensive soul revealing. 

Then, dearest maid, though now we part \ 

Believe no time can sever 
Thy image from the faithful heart, 

Where thou'rt enthroned for ever, Love y 
Where thou'rt enthroned for ever. 
x 



TO 



TO MISS M'D- 



When first I saw thee, dearest maid, 
My heart was cold— my hopes were gone, 

There beamed no ray to light the shade, 
And sorrow saddened every tone* 

In vain I strove to wean my heart* 
From all its dreams of selfish grief j 

One only feeling would not part* 
It clung despairing of relief. 



to miss m'jd 87 

Thou know'st from whence that feeling sprung, 

Thy heart has soften'd at my woe, 
And wept— till every thought was strung 

With former love's endearing glow. 

And you have smiled— and I forgot 

The smile of her who could deceive ^ 
And I have hung o'er thee— till not 

A thought was left on which to grieve* 

And now, of all my early love, 

There but remains this much— to show 

Thou hadst the power for to remove, 
What none, save thee, can ever know, 



THE 



MANIAC MOTHER. 



No bliss on earth is half so sweet, 
No joy so pure can light the eye, 

As that which beams, when hearts do meet, 
In nature's firmest, dearest, tie ) 

So Zaphna thought — for sweet had sped 
Nine circling years of bliss away, 

Since to his Leo he was wed- 
Since first he own'd love's tender sway. 



THE MANIAC MOTHER. 89 

Three lovely children's winning wiles, 
Did glad the father f s happy breast*-* 

A tender wife's sweet beaming smiles. 
The fulness of her Joy contest. 

Beneath her tender pitying eye 

None wept unheeded, unrelieved % 
She sooth'd the orphan's feeble cry -j 

She sooth'd the widow'd hearts that grievecL 

The husband of her early love, 

The offspring of her joyous breast, 
She deem'd as blessings from above— h 

Sweet blessings sent to make her blest, 



90 THE MANIAC MOTHER. 

But ah ! in evil cursed hour, 

Some fanatic, with notions wild, 
Crept basely to their peaceful bower, 

And planted woe where joy once smiled. 

Gone now was every beaming smile, 
That brighten'd once the mother's eye \ 

Gone too the love that did beguile 

Her husband's care—her children's cry. 

The wounded minds she loved to cheer, 
Must now weep on— -nor hope relief; 

ThU kindred heart is dark and drear 

Who shared their woe— who sooth'd their grief. 



THE MANIAC MOTHER. 91 

With horrid musings oft opprest, 

She'd sit her lonely bower within } 
Then starting, cry she would be blest, 

But for some dread unpardoned sin. 

That fancied sin, with horrid force 

Around her wither'd heart did cling, 
As if it was the dreadful source 

From whence her sorrows all did spring, 

But soon, alas ! her heart became 
Lost to each tender feeling tie : 
Soon madness, with its scorching flame, 

Blazed wildly from her sparkling eye, 



92 THE MANIAC MOTHER. 

She deem'd her children would be blest, 
And to her heart the thought it clung ; 

She deem'd they'd sweetly sleep at rest, 
Were they to die so pure and young. 

Her husband, with a sadden'd heart, 
Long watch'd her sleepless pillow by ; 

But he no comfort could impart— 
He could not light her faded eye. 

One day, she seemed more tranquil, calm, 
Than what for many a day she'd been 5 

He for to breathe the freshening balm, 
A while did leave the mournful scene. 



THE MANrAC MOTHER 95 

But ah ! that calm he thought secure, 

Was but the meteor's passing ray, 
Which beams a moment to allure, 

And mock the traveller's weary way, 

'Twas but a momentary blaz.e, 

That mock'd the feeling it did show $ 

Then sunk beneath the withering rays 
Of madness, which again did glow. 

That dread idea ! which had lain 

And rankled deeply in her heart, 
Seem'd now to press upon her brain, 

And all its horrid force impark 



L. 



$4 THE MANIAC MOTHER. 

She wiled her children forth to walk, 

She lured them to a lonely dell, 
Then stopped beneath a spreading brake, 

By which a stream did bubbling swelh 

Begardless of their pitying moan, 

With desperate hand she plunged them in j 
Now then, she cried, this will atone 

a The dread unpardonable sin ! M — « 

With feeble strength, and efforts weak, 
They strove for to regain the shore j 

But ah ! in vain ! a horrid shriek 
Burst, as they sunk to rise no more. 



THE MANIAC MOTHER, 

Their parting looks, as they did sink, 
Upon their mother's form were cast, 

Who stood half-leaning o'er the brink, 
Like some wild demon of the blast. 

But Heaven did hear their feeble cry, 

And gave them strength to bear their doom 

Their souls did smiling mount on high, 
Their bodies found a watery tomb. 

With heart elate and joyous breast, 



She sought her now deserted bome^ 



She knew her children were at rest. 



She knew them free from woe to come 5 






96 THE MANIAC MOTBXB. 

She knew, and gloried in the deed ; 

Ah, happy if she da so aye ! 
How would her heart with horror bleed, 

Should reason e'er resume its sway ? 

But ah ! what hand dare draw the scene, 
A father's blighted joys to tell j 

Or paint the anguished feelings keen, 
That in his hopeless heart must dwell ? 

No— let his woes and sorrows rest, 
For none can half express his woe > 

'Tis known but by that God so blest, 
Who gave, and who can cure the blow. 



SONG, 
TO MISS 

Long shall this sacred pledge remain 
A treasure dear in every part *? 

But longer still thy charms retain 
Dominion o'er my broken heart, 

Yet will it only serve to bring 

That form to view I must not see j 

And add to that remorse a sting 
From which I fear I cannot flee. 



98 TO MISS . 



Yet it is dear !— well I remind 

The endearing words that made it so : 

Words, that in truth were sure designed, 
If truth was e'er designed below* 

But they are broken— you might well 

Have spared a heart whose all was thine } 

Nor given this little pledge to tell 
Of joys which once were dearly mine? 



LINES 

WRITTEN ON A VISIT TO THE MONUMENT EBXCTEB 
IN COMMEMORATION OF THE 

BATTLE OF WATERLOO, 

ON PENIELHETJGH HILL. 



Stranger, ascend, and from the turret high, 
Look on the smiling plains that round you lie $ 
Gaze on the towering hills, the mountains green, 
Where Freedom sits the guardian of the scene : 
Gaze on with rapture j— 'tis a glorious sight, 
There, justice, mercy, guard the peasant's right y 



100 LINKS. 

No haughty despot rules with tyrant sway, 
No cringing slaves the despot's laws obey j 
All, all are free — in Britain's Happy Isle, 
Fair Freedom sits with ever-beaming smile 1 
Yes, we are free — there was a cloud that lower'd, 
But by thy brighter genius,— overpower'd,— 
Immortal Wellington ! once more we're free ! 
Thanks to thy valour — British bravery. 

Return' d from conquest, must thy triumphs crease ~? 
Will Britain's sons forget thee in her peace, 
Now when the blast of war has blown away, 
And thou, unnoticed, sink to dull decay ? 
Can British hearts forget the hand that saved ? 
No*»in each grateful bosom thou'rt engraved I 



XINE6 101 

In the bright annals of a glorious reign* 

Thou shin'st the noblest of a noble train ! 

Enroll'd for ever in her ample page, 

Thou liv'st the pride— the glory of our age !— 

The mighty of the land have vied to raise 

The noblest trophy to the victor's praise i 

Here, where bright Freedom sits enthroned in pride, 

The Mighty Guardian of fair Teviotside ! 

Here, here, the noble Kerr hath raised for thee, 

A worthy trophy to thy memory. 

Here, will the hearts in future ages turn, 
Whilst with the patriot's ardent fire they burn ! 
Here, will they turn and say— Our fathers bled 
When noble Wellington the battle led ! 






102 LINES. 

They bled ! they conquered ! shall their sons remain 

Inactive, when the foe invades our plain ? 

No— to our king — our country ever true — 

We'll prove our fathers bled at Waterloo ! 

Thus son to son the praises will tranfer 

Of Waterloo's famed Prince, and Scotland's Kerr 












SONG. 



Had you, love, been less enchanting, 
Less bewitching, less refined ; 

Or I, in confidence been wanting \ 
Or to all thy graces blind, 

I bad not thus been doom'd to anguish 9 
Renew' d by each succeeding day $ 

In youth's meridian, thus to languish 
Every joyless hour away 3 



104 SONG. 

Can'st thou then, my fairest, see me 

Fall a victim to thy charms ? 
Can'st thou, while one smile would free me 

From the worst of love's alarms ? 

Why, my dearest, doom to sorrow 
One who only lives for tkee ?—? 

Let thy heart, in pity, borrow 
One kind smile for love and me. 



EDMUND AND ELLEN. 



The morn arose in silver pride 9 
Array'd in all its robes of beauty 5 

And Nature, as a blushing bride, 

Came forth with smiles of lore and duty, 

To woo the heart from that repose, 

Which o'er the mind a moment throws 
Forgetfulnese of sorrow—* 

The early lark was in the sky, 



106 XDMtJMD AjmJ j^LLEK. 

Hymning its simple song on high, 
And sweet the carol floated by, 
To hail the op'ning morrow : 
Each little minstrel caught the strain, 
And echo'd back the tones again. 
The smile of heaven was calm and bright, 
The sun scarce dawn'd upon the sight > 
And just a passing glance it threw 
On flowerets, dipt in morning dew : 
And tinged with modest blushing beam 
The bosom of the winding stream, 
That sighing, felt the warm embrace, 
And murmur'd on with smiling face,— 



EDMUND AND ELLEN. 107 

Near by that stream a hunter roved, 

Whose look betray'd his bosom's gladness » 
His soul was lost 'mid scenes he loved, 

Till not a thought was left for sadness 3 
Though many a joyful heart that day, 
Awoke to bless the opening ray, 

Full bursting on the view, 
Than Edmund of the fair Rosay, 
Not one arose with heart more gay, 

With heart to love more true. 
He loved— and Ellen's answering sigh, 

Forbade him to despair : 
The day was fix'd— -the hour was nigh 

To bless the happy pair ! 



108 EDMUtfD AtfD ELLEK. 

Though sorrow's child, with doubtful smile? 
Might view that tranquil morn the while, 

As mockery of his woe j 
In Edmund's heart each thought of bliss 
Grew purer 'neath a scene like this, 

And own'd a warmer glow : 
He wish'd but for his Ellen there \ 

He knew her soul was all of love, 
And form'd in Nature's smiles to share, 

With feelings pure, as saints above .~ 
But see, what angel form appears, 
Half-lost 'mid rising hopes and fears ; 
And, musing, bends o'er yonder tide- 
It is, it is, his lovely bride,; xLtq 



EDMUND AND EL&EN. 109 

Who thus upon his raptured sight? 
Breaks like a vision of the night. 
He ran, he snatch'd the hasty kiss a y 

She did not damp the love he show'd m f 
She did not check his ardent bliss j 

For ah ! with equal love she glow'de 
No coy reserve, or maiden's scorn. 
Was there to damp that joyous morn : 
Heart there reposed on heart, as free 
As childhood's soft simplicity. 
Oh ! she was all to Edmund — he 
Was more to her than earth could be ; 
And if she felt a purer love, 

A ray of heavenly bliss, 



110 EDMUND AND ELLEN , 

'Twas when with Edmund she would rove 
Through fairy dell, or daisied grove, 

On such a morn as this* 
Bapt thus in love of fairest hue,. 

The world was all forgot j 
Each tender thought divinely grew 
To more than bliss — as o'er them flew 

The hours they heeded not.— 
They've gain'd — but cannot pass the bower \ 

The bower where joy sat smiling, 
To mind them of the vernal hour 

Of love and love's beguiling j 
When Edmund, with a lover's fear, 
First breathed the tale in Ellen's ear***- 



mvuvwi> and elleh. II 1 

The bower recalTd to Edmund's miad f 
His love first told, his Ellen kind— 
Whilst sweet on Ellen's mind did press 
The memory of that hour of bliss : 
With hearts awake to purest love, 

Each by-past joy they fondly number, 
They enter now the sweet alcove, 

Array 'd by love, for love's soft slumber - 7 
The rustling door her hand hath stirr'd, 
But still no angel voice is heard- 

To warn her deadly fate, 
'Tis done— a branch his gun hath caught - f 
Too sure the aim— with death 'tis fraught : 

All warning is too late— 



112 EDMUND AND ELLEN. 

She fell— the weeping flowers around, 

Were crimson'd with the stain- 
In vain young Edmund staunch'd the wound I 

His care, his love, were vain. 
Life ebb'd — her eye grew deathly dim, 
But still it gazed with love on him, 

Who, even in death, was more 
Than what in blissful hours he'd been, 
When fancy smiled upon the scene, 

With love oft felt before. 
Faint and more faint grew every sigh, 
And dim and dimmer grew her eye ; 
And scarcely might the listener hear 
The words that fell on Edmund's ear ;•— 



EDMUND AND ELLEN* il§ 

" Oh, weep not, Edmund, though thy hand 

Hath laid thy Ellen low, 
Fate's stern resolve who can command f 

Or who avert the blow ? 
But yet, how little did I deem 
When rapt in fancy's fondest dream, 

That such our fate would be j 
How little thought this bower so dear. 
Would be the pathway to my bier $ 
Or that the heart which worshipp'd here, 

Would wake to weep o'er me. 
But grieve not, Edmund, brighter rays 

Of bliss await on high t 
Where purer hours, and softer days. 

In smiling lustre lye | 



■■■ 



11* EDMUND AND ELLEN. 

There shall thy heart be joinM to mine. 
With love more tranquil, more divine, 

Than aught that earth bestows j 
There, kindred spirits sweetly smile 
To woo the heart, to bless the while, 

And sooth us to repose 5 
Yet, ere that hour, thy heart may know 
The bliss which fate hath now bereft \ 
Thy bosom yet with joy may glow- 
Remember then— thy Ellen left 
Her dearest blessing on the maid 
Whose love could thus dissolve the shade 
That hung around thy heart : 



EDMUND AND ELLEN. MS 

Tell her to be— *what fain I'd been— 
The sharer in thy every scene ; 

A part in every part— 
And, Edmund, if thy love for me 

Remains when I am gone £ 
. Oh ! let my father find in thee, 

The comforts of a son. 
Oft has he hoped, with joy serene, 
To close in peace his latest scene 
Within our arms, my Edmund, dear- 
Nay, nay, restrain thy bitter tear % 
Support and smooth his aged head, 
Till in the silent grave he's laid \ 
And, oh ! may peace still rest with you % 
I eannot more— Adieu— adieu,"-^ 



116 EDMUND AND ELLEN* 

Her murmuring words died faint away 
Beneath stern death's resistless sway, 
And as she breathed her last adieu, 
Her cheek changed to a deathly hue : 
Edmund beheld her closing eye, 
He heard her last faint parting sigh, 
And bent— as fearful that the breast 

He held to his, could feel no longer- 
He felt his hand in phrenzy prest, 

As even in death her love grew stronger. 
All now is still— it beats no more- 
Still, even as the hope she left him— 
Of every joy he prized before, 

Fate had at this one stroke bereft him f 



EDMUND AND ELLEN. 

And there he stood— and at his feet 
Lay her, that even in death was sweet ; 
Her, that had bless'd the hand that slew, 
And sooth'd him in a last adieu,— 
4t And yet I live,— and thou art there.** 
He breathed in accents of despair— 
16 What joy, what bliss can e*er be mine, 
Since thou, who made each bliss divine^ 

Art gone-^-for ever gone ! 
Earth seems a blank bereft of thee, 
A voidless waste— it cannot be— 
The smile of love is nought to me— 

Can it thy loss atone ? 



117 



i 



IIS EDMUND AND EX.IXY. 

Oh, could'st thou think this heart again 

Would wake to love and bliss ; 
And could'st thou bid my tears refrain, 

Yet think on scene like this ? 
Thy father, too, would curse the heart 
That reft him of his dearest part, 

A daughter's tender care ! 
It cannot be— stay, Ellen, stay, 
In brighter skies my love we'll play, 
Renew our joys 'neath every ray, 

Of bliss that lingers there."— 
He kneels, he clasps the lovely fair, 
In all the madness of despair, 
And unto hers, he pressed his lip ^ 

The last warm ray was gone, 



EDMUND AND ELLSHo 119 



Alas ! no sweets were there to sip, 

The rose was withering lone. 
One more embrace—it is his last, 
His spirit with that sigh hath past j 
And, pillow' d on his Ellen's breast, 
He sleeps in nature's latest Test* 
— The bell had rung the mid-day hour, 

She comes not— why delay ? 
Her father looks from out the tower, 

And chides his Ellen's stay ; 
*' She was not wont to leave me long,' 1 

He sigh'd — " and yet I see her not § 
I cannot hear the witching song, 

That on the gale would streetly float, 



120 EDMUND AND ELLEN. 

Whenever her fairy form drew nigh, 
To bless her father's aged eye."— 
This dread suspense he could not bear, 
'Twas worse, even worse than cold despair- 
He caird his menials, and they took 
Each Various path by plain and brook ; 
The fairy deli, her favourite green, 

Where flowers were blooming fair, 
But there, that morn, she had not been— 

The rose uncull'd was there j 
The wreath to deck her braided hair, 

Still gr*sw in virgin pride > 
Her father turned in wild despair^ 

And sought the streamlet's side y 



EDMUND AND ELLEN. J 21 

There, in the grove, the sad recess, 

Grew wanton 'neath the ray 
Of nature's fairest fond caress, 
Till every flower bent sick with bliss, 

And withered 'neath her sway. 
The lowly door they soon perceived, 
Bound which, the nymphs a wreath had weaved^ 

With flowers of every hue ; 
They hasten on— she must be there \ 
Such bower doth love for love prepare, 

When love and bliss are new. 
Hope now is high— fair Ellen's name f\ 

Floats gently on the air : :..') 

Dull echo answers but the same, i; 

She sleeps — if she is there ! 



122 EDMUND AND ELLEN. 

But wherefore is the father's eye 
So wildly bent ?— what doth he spy ?*~* 
What means the menials* fixed look ? 
That gaze, the heart can scarcely brook ! 
They speak not — every eye is dim, 
And fix'd with pitying glance on him* 

Who thus of all bereft, 
Stood o'er his daughter, with a heart, 
Where feeling seem'd to scorn a part, 

Where not a throb was left ! 
'Twas more than mortal heart might bear :. 
His hope, his latest hope was there, 
Calm in the sleep of death's decay j 
Aad at her side, young Edmund lay 



EDMUND AND £LLi£- 139 

As calm, as cold as she ! 
He spoke not — scarcely breathed— but gaxed 9 
With eye dilated^ dim, and glazed y 

Then sunk upon his knee. 
And kiss'd the cheek, where all was cold i 

His own scarce felt as life was there t 
He wept, as to the earth she rolPd 
From out his fainting feeble hold, 

That could no longer bear. 
What father's heart, in death's embrace^ 

His all, could calmly see ? 
He had no child to fill his place, 
None to uphold his ancient race, 

The last of all was he ! 



124 EDMUND AND KILEU* 

His blooming offspring, one by one 
Had died — and he was left alone : 
He long had look'd with pride to see 
His Ellen's children on his knee j 
And hoped her smile, and their caress. 
Would woo his heart once more to bliss ^ 
But ah ! this stroke, the most severe, 
His aged heart was doom'd to bear, 
Came like the angry curse of heaven, 
And hope, ^nd joy, and child were riven 
From his lone heart — and in their place,. 
Despair sat settled on his face, 
And death, triumphant, laugh'd to spy 
The fading dimness of his eye ! 



EDMUND AND ELXENc 125 

The fragrance from each balmy flower, 
That circled round the blooming bower, 
Breathed sweetly as his spirit rose 
Triumphant o'er all earthly woes* 

Their tombs were raised in splendid pride, 

And Seraphs hover'd nigh j 
And many a lover bent beside 
The turf of his Edmund and his Bride^ 

For love can never die 



1 



SONG. 

TO MISS _1- 



vt eef not, dear Marion— weep not, love, 
Though now we part with hopes thus blasted ^ 

An hour will come, my sweet, and prove 
Our joys as dear as if they'd lasted. 

Ah, dearer— for our hearts will prize 
The love that lives, unchanging never y 

Time ne'er can blight the form that lies 
Embodied in this breast for ever. 



TO MISS —— 1ST 

And thou hast swore— how fondly swore ! 

Thy heart can ne'er forget thy lover j 
Then, dearest Marion, weep no more, 

The cloud, thoiigh dark, will soon be over \ 

Then will our joys appear more bright, 
Our love and bliss far more endearing j 

And whilst we revel in delight, 

We'll bless our sun for disappearing. 



BIRTH-DAY LINES. 



"When to tjie ardent longing prayer 

Of lordly power the child is given, 
What shouts triumphant rend the air, 

To hail the smiling gift of Heaven y 
The minstrel wakes the tender lyre, 

To mark with joy its natal day ^ 
Entranced in all a poet's fire. 

He paints the infant's future ray y 



BIRTH-DAY LINESo 129 

But there is none to welcome thee, 
Sweet babe, with shouts of triumph free : 
No minstrel proudly breathes the lay 
To hail thee on thy natal day 5 
Thy welcome is a mother's tear *, 
A father's love proclaims thee dear j 
And I, sweet child, thy bard must be, 
And wake the simple strain for thee* 

Years yet may pass, ere thou canst know 
The grief that dims our hopes below j 
The joys of childhood's simple hour 
Will weave round thee a fairy bower*, 
And shield thee from the woes that wait 
Upon our riper sterner state* 



ISO B IKTH-B AS LINES. 

Then, in those days, when all is joy, 
Be it thy tender mind's employ, 
To raise a name, at virtue's shrine, 
With all that virtue holds divine j 
And round thy lovely brow to braid 
The wreath of love that ne'er can fade. 
— Thus, when the days of childhood's oV, 
And childhood's joys are felt no more, 
When other scenes arise to view, 
Scenes mix'd with^inany a varied hue. 
Thy heart may trace the path of love,, 
The path that leads to bliss above. 



THE 

DEATH OF ABEL. 



The offerings are brought, of tie fruits of the field, 
And the firstling of flocks, are the gifts which they 

yield j 

But the hearts of the givers are varied in tone„ 
And the Lord he regards hut the offering of one e 

That offering was Abel's—his heart it was pure, 
And he paid the oblation in mercy secure j 
But the offering of Cain was an offering of pride, 
And the gift and the giver the Lord did deride. 






152 THE DEATH OF ABEL. 

His heart waxed wroth, and his countenance fell, 
And the dark shade of hate on his visage did dwell j 
But the voice of Jehovah in thunder thus broke, 
And the heart of the trembler sunk low as he spoke : 

" Why kindles thine anger ? why darkens thy brow, 
As if brooding on thoughts which you dare not avow ? 
If thine actions are just — thou accepted shall be ^ 
But if evil thou doest — be the evil with thee." — 

Cain 9 trembling with terror, and struck with dismay, 
Stood bow'd to the earth till the voice died away, 
Then lifted his eye — no repentance was there, 
Its gleams spoke but terror, dread hate and despair.. 



THE DEATH OF ABEL. 135 

Yes ! hate from that moment was fixM in his breast, 
And the cause was a brother, whose offering was blest : 
A brother, whose kindness and friendship still strove 
To awake him to joy, with endearments of love. 

Unconscious was he that such friendship but woke 
A still deeper hatred, and hasten'd the stroke °, 
The stroke of dread horror his brother design'd, 
Urged on by the foe of himself and mankind ♦ 

One day, as together they walk'd in the field, 
From all— save the eye of Jehovah — conceal'd $ 

I The fond tongue of Abel, exulting, was raised, 
Aad the God of his hope was the object he praised . 



J — — — 



154 THR HEATH OF A&ZL* 

"• Come let us, my brother, thus gratefully join, 
And the cause of our bliss with our blessings combine i 
And the sound of our gratitude sweetly will rise 
To the throne of our God — who with blessing replies.'* 

— " Thy praises, thou favourite of nature and Heaven? 
May well to the God of our father be given : 
On thee, both his love and his favours descend, 
But he scorns every prayer and oblation I send." 

— ** Oh, say not so, brother— our God is most just* 
In him be our hope, and in him be our trust $ 
He scorns not our praise, if the heart joins the prayer } 
H© knows when to answer— then, dc* not despair.** 



THE HEATH OF ABEJU J 55 

" Despair is my portion— and thou-— even thou-** 

Art the cause why it sits so enthroned on ray brow y 
Thou hast for thy portion the bliss of the Lord, 
Whilst I wander unblest — by all nature abhorrM* 

" Was not my oblation refused in his scorn. 
Whilst thine was accepted ? — for this I was born I 
But thou shalt not live thus to mock at my woe~ 
The force of my hatred is shown by this blow« tf 

In the strength of his madness, he flung him around„ 
And the life-blood of Abel has crimsonM the ground i 
And the lips that were calling on mercy to save*, 
Are as cold and as damp as the dust of the grave* 



156 THE DEATH OF ABEL. 

O'er Abel's cold corpse he did fearfully lean, 
Whilst the foe of mankind smiled delight at the scene £ 
But the murderer's wild heart had awoke to remorse, 
And he felt all its horrors- — he felt all its curse : 

" Awake ! Oh, my brother — oh, Abel awake !"— 
But no brother's kind voice in reply to him spake ; 
That heart now is cold, that was cheerful as day, 
And the murderer has fled from the scene of dismay * 

On his ear, fell like thunder, the voice of the Lord : 
" Where is Abel thy brother ?" he fearfully heard— 
To the earth he sunk powerless, with terror dismay'd, 
** I am not his keeper," he tremblingly said* 



THE DEATH OF ABEL. 157 

~— " His blood cries against thee— to heaven it arose j 
And the curse of thy Maker will add to thy woes > 7 
The earth to thee now shall be barren for ever, 
And the smiles of thy parents shall light on thee never ! 

" Despised and deserted, an outcast thou'lt roam* 
For ever exiled from thy parents and home ^ 

Xllc fc>!aad o£ iky "broiko*. wiii ^»,.^.^^ ^^ a1 *X *■*»»*»*? 

Despair and remorse still will follow behind," 

— " Oh God ! the dread curse is too heavy to bear—? 
Deserted ? an outcast ? no longer to share 
In the smiles of my parents ? the light of thy grace ? 
Each hand will be raised 'gainst this form of disgrace ? ,f 



igH^iiMlHiifiliu 



138 THE BEATH OF IKfe 

^ Thee hear what the God of thy father doth say : 
Thy death with a vengeance sevenfold I'll repay % 
And this marie, which I plant on thy brow of disgrace, 
A safeguard will prove from the hate of. thy race.'* 

The mark was implanted— the outcast was there— » 
A moment he lingered— then fled in despair— 
iflle dared-*****'- »«»•*»-«**-* ^*ko» cpiW ^<ios?eii * 
Am& he bore in his bosom the eurse of his L-ordo 



THE WISH 



Bjeneath this turf I fain would sleep, 
Deep shaded by that willow tree j 

Here silent woe, unseen, may weep* 
If there's an eye to weep for me* 



I've raark'd the spot in life's gay hour^ 
When smiling hope was bright as day ; 

Ere disappointment's saddening power 
Had banish'd love's endearing ray* 



140 THE WISH* 

And yet, 'twas strange— even then arose 
A wish — when life's short day was done, 

That here, I lonely might repose, 
Unknown to all — save one alone. 

But she is false— and may not weep 
When in my narrow bed I'm laid j 

No pitying tears the eye may steep, 
That smiled in love— ere love betrayed. 

But yet, perchance, the tear may flow 
When she beholds the lonely bier j 

And thinks on him who sleeps below— 
On him who loved her— ah how dear ! 



THE WISH. 



141 



Then let my lonely grave be made 
Beneath that aged willow tree j 

There — when I'm lqw and silent laid, 
Unseen, the tear may fall for me 9 



t% 



TO FANCY. 



Weik the swallow skims along, 
Gently kissing the smooth lake, 

And the milk-maid's sweetest song 
Music to the ear doth make \ 

When the cushat's plaintive moan 
Rises from the woodland dale $ 

And the blackbird's mellow tone 
Breathes like rapture on the gale, 



TO FAKC*. M| 



Let me wander forth alone. 
Pensive joy in every feature, 

Pleasure breathing in each tone* 
Hailing sweet the smiles of nature. 

Fancy, with thy fairy notions, 
Spread thy wild fantastic train ^ 

Quick as lightning be thy motions, 
Lovely as the rainstrePa strain* 

*Tis no gloomy heart imploring 
For to gild a darken'd scene : 

All is lovely— all adoring- 
Nature smiles in joy serene 



144 TO FAKCY, 

Balmy flowers are sweetly springing, 
Sportive lambs around me play, 

Fairy bells, unseen, are ringing, 

Music breathes from every spray -,— 

Laaghing joy, from yon blue heaven* 
On the sunbeams roll along j 

All the charms by fancy given, 
Brighten in the poet's song : 

Come then, come, for thou art ever 
Dearest to the poet's breast j 

No mortal power the bond can sever, 
Which combines our union blest. 



I 



TO FANCI^ 145 



What were life and all its pleasures ! 

What were beauty's fading ray ? 
What were e'en the thrilling measures, 

Of the minstrel's sweetest lay ; 

Love and bliss and hope endearing, 

All would fade if thou werH gone- 
Come then, with thy visions cheering, 
Fairy, come, here fix thy throne. 



LINES 

©N EEVISITING MX NATIVE VXI&AGJ£« 



i?r other climes, where shines a purer sky^ 
Where every scene glows with a brighter dye* 
Where nature, smiling 'neath a warmer ray, 
Melts into love and languishes away, 
The traveller roves — yet still his ardent heart 
Turns to his home, if feeling shares a part~ 
Turns from th« beauties of a warmer sky, 
To where his own green mountains soar on high i 



m 



uvxs, I4f 

Each smiling scene his wandering eye surveys, 
Brings bacfc remembrance of his vernal day,, 
Endeared by absence— fancy lends her dye, 
To brighten scenes made dear by every tie ! 
But ah I what transport pure, his bosom fills, 
As bending home, he spies his native hills ! 
How glows his heart, when every danger past, 
He seats him in his youthful home at last— 
His eye, once more, on early friends doth rest f 
And joy, the purest, revels in his breast. 

So, when I left sweet Ale's romantic shores) 
Still in my dreams, I heard its niurmuring roar 3 
And still would Fancy paint each well known 'seen** 
And memory tell where youthful sports had heex^ 






148 MNES. 

How glow'd my heart, with rapture beaming high, 
As they again did meet my gladden'd eye. 
I saw once more each well remember' d scene— 
I saw the school-boys, trip in sport, the green \ 
And that recalled the days, when young as they, 
I tript it too — in every gladsome play. 
—How sweetly then did pass those vernal days, 
Heedless alike of censure, as of praise : 
Without a care — save that our task should be 
Approved by one of spirit kind and free.— 
While thus I trace those joyous days gone by, 
Remembrance fondly claims the tender sigh \ 
And Fancy still would linger on each spot, 
In memory fixed, too deep to be forgot. 



LINESo 14$ 

Yet though these days are gone, like flitting dreams. 
The scene remains and still as lovely seems j 
And ah ! how fondly were those scenes survey'd — 
How oft was each loved haunt a visit paid ? 
The caves, romantic, and the vallies, sweet, 
Where glowing charms the raptured eye would greet I 
Oh ! it was sweet, on tranquil eve to rove 
Through fairy dells of bliss, or daisied grove, 
When day grew dim, and set in rays of love, 
With one, endear' d by friendship's tender name, 
Whose heart grew warm, with feelings all the same % 
To mark with eye, to nature's beauties true, 
£ach smiling scene of love that met the view, 
How pensive grew the heart, when years gone by, 
Came brighten'd in the hues of fancy's dye, 



150 1.1NKS, 

And brought the scenes of other days to view, 

When o'er that rugged wall the banner flew, 

And Malta's martial knights, aroused afar 

The sons of Teviot's plain, for Eastern war ! 

Each proud memorial long hath past away, 

Tke mouldering wall now crumbles to decay f — 

Is it a fitting monument for pride, 

To tell how warriors lived — how warriors died ? 

Is it the only trophy time could leave, 

Where fame might shed her hallow'd rays, and weave 

A laurel for the mighty chiefs of yore, 

Who bore the cross to Palestina's shore ?«— 

But they are gone — the heart awakes to love f 

As nature, smiling woos, to Ancrum's grove f 



UKES. 151 

Groves, that to Leyden gave a brighter scene 9 

Than Minto's shade or Dena's hallow'd Dean ! 

Groves, that have echo'd to the magic fire 

Of Thomson's harp, and Leyden's border lyre ! 

Oh ! there was one ! to whom these scenes were dear ! 

Departed Scott ! — thy soul was centered here ! 

The earth, to thee, contained no spot like this, 
These groves were all thy world— were all thy bliss !— 
Oft hath the admiring stranger turn'd aside, 
To worship nature in its loftiest pride, 
To rove with pensive heart the fairy glade, 
Or seek a bower beneath the waving shade !— » 
'Tis sweet to see, while evening's balmy breeze, 
With murmuring sound scarce stirs the spreading trees .;• 



152 uses. 

The youth, persuasive, and the maiden, fair, 
With love's first fondness to these shades repair : 
Here have I wanton' d many an hour away, 
And pour'd — unknown to all — my simple lay ! 
And here, once more, I wander' d free from woe, 
And felt my heart with warmer feelings glow — 
I trode the little dell, where childhood's h 
Had wanton' d sweetly 'neath some fairy pov 
I sought the little church — the churchyard lone, 
And every feeling own'd a sadder tone j 
There was a solemn stillness in the scene, 
The death-Like calm of nature's sleep serene, 
That seem'd to scorn what hope would fondly deen 
And to remind, our joys were all a dream. 



LINES. 155 

teps trode above the narrow bed, 
many a friendly heart was silent laid j 
And bitter memory brought to view again 

friends of youth — rememb^rM bow with pairr 
i Little tombstone, friendship's hand had rear 
Above the graves of these by love endear'd, 
Told to the eye what mouldering inmate lay, 
And slept beneath the embrace of parent cL 
But Fancy, its own inmates sadly gave 
To many a nameless time-decaying grave : 
Here, may the schoolboy sleep In calm decay, 
Snatch'd from his weeping friends and sports a^ray : 
I see the sad array pass o'er the green, 
Where all his simple joys and cares had been - 9 



154 XJiXZS. 

And as the slow procession passes by, 

His little playmates wipe the moisten'd eye, 

Tell o'er each sport with which he charm'd the day 5, 

Then heedless turn to their accustom'd play : 

And cannot Fancy give to this sad cell, 

A form, where purest love did sweetly dwell | 

These kindred graves, decaying side by side, 

Contain, perhaps, the lover and his bride ; 

He lived in love, secure in every joy, 

Nor could the rival's sigh his bliss alloy ; 

He long'd impatient for the coming day, 

That would at last his well-tried love repay : 

He look'd with rapture to that hour of bliss,, 

Nor e!er bestow'd a thought ©n state like this ! 



Me saw not, 'tween him and his lovely bride, 
Death's form, gigantic, in stern mockery stride ! 
But ere the appointed day, he low was laid, 
And o'er the turf, did weep, his once-loved maid"-* 
A few short days in bursting grief she wept, 
Then cold and silent as her lover slept 
Thus Fancy gives an inmate to each grave* 
When not a stone is left their names to save* 
The tear of sad remembrance softly fell 
Upon two graves, which I remember'd well •: 
Beneath the turf 9 two sisters fair were laid, 
Cut off whilst in their vernal bloom array'd— * 
Scarce was the one made welcome to the tomb ; 
When o'er the other, pass'd the withering doom f 



156 LINES. 

Scarce had the mourner time to wipe the tear, 
Ere it was claimed to wet the other's bier ! — 
Departed spirit ! dost thou bend o'er me ? 
Or canst thou hear the sigh I breathe for thee P 
Seest thou the tear that glistens on thy grave ? 
Hear'st thou the strain that would thy virtues save I 
Those virtues which an angel saw from high, 
And bore thee smiling to a warmer sky. 
Oh, if thou canst — throw o'er thy poet's heart 
One ray of love — that he may now impart 
In glowing strains the scenes of early youth, 
With all of nature's fondness — nature's truth. 
From scene so drear, upon whose bosom lay 
The stilly calmness of expiring day, 



LINXS* 



15T 



Our moisten'd eyes would turn, where, towering rose, 
Scenes that could almost sooth our deepest woes : 
Faia would my hand the daring task assay, 
To paint those scenes where pass'd my vernal day j 
But vain the nttempt, to nobler names belong 
The power to raise thee in triumphant song : 
A nobler hand, strain'd with immortal fire, 
Must strike for thee, the joy-inspiring lyre, 
Whilst he, whose feeble hand would fain assay 
To show thy beauties and each charm peurtray, 
Will lie forgotten, and his name will fade 
Btneath the darkness of oblivion's shade : 
No song shall live to tell his love for thee, 
They, like himself, will all forgotten be j 
I 



L 



58 LINES, 

But yet while life within his bosom reigns, 

The memory of each glowing charm remains — 

For ah ! with each fond feeling they're combined. 

And with thy name are parents, friends, entwined ! 

What, though thy village no ideas raise 

Within the stranger's mind to call for praise, 

Yet in the heart, when Fancy fondly rears 

The recollection of our vernal years, 

The lowliest spot like loveliness appears. 

And though I'm destined for to leave, once more f 

The towering banks of Ale's romantic shore, 

Yet while this heart beats with emotion dear, 

A lingering thought will often wander here \ 

And Fancy, wild, through each loved vale will rove. 

And lead me back to happiness and love. 



THE FAREWELL 
TO 



Farewell, once dearest maid, we part ! 

This lingering kiss must be our last ! 
That o'er— this sad and broken heart 

Must all forget the dream that's past. 

But yet I deem'd not when we met, 
Our parting would be such as this ; 

I Or, that thy heart could e'er forget 
That hour, of more than earthly bliss. 



L 



160 THE ¥ABEWEL£, 

In that wild hour of love divine, 
When all but rapture was forgot* 

You swore your heart was fondly mine, 
And murmur'd out your happy lot. 

And can it he ?— is thine the breast 
That beat in rapture with my own f 

Are these the lips which once confessed 
Thy heart was solely— mine alone ? 

Hast thou forgot ?— but why remind 

Of that, which thou canst ne'er forget ?— 

Eftough— the pang that's left behind, 
Eeminds me of the hour we met* 



THE FAREWELL* 161 

One day— that past — and thou wilt be 
The wife of one who loves thee well : 

But then— even then— -thou'lt think of me i 
His very love of me will tell y 

Whilst to thy lips he clings in bliss, 
And murmurs out his love for thee,— » 

Will it remind you of each kiss 
That was imprinted there— by me ? 

Yes, he may love thee ! but he ne'er 

Can love with such a love as mine \ 
Even in this hour I feel thou'rt dear j 

What— when I deem'd thee all divine I 



1 61 THE F ARE WELL 

I dare not dwell upon the thought • 
Of bliss, which once was all to me .1 

Alas ! it was too dearly bought— 
Bought with my future misery. 

Oh ! had it lasted— but ? tis vain y 

The present cancels all the past- 
Fond memory ne'er must wake again-* 
Mary, this kiss must be our last ! 



" WHEN SHALL WE THREE MEET 
AGAIN." 



" When shall we three meet again f 
Meet the flowing bowl to drain ? 
When the midnight winds are blowing, 
And the taper brightly glowing, 
And the hour of love's delight, 
Sheds its breezes on the night, 
Making night more sweet than day, 
We shall meet— till then away ! 



164 " WHEN SHALL WE THREE MEET AGA**." 

But when midnight bells are ringing, 
When the voice of love is singings 
And the heart is beating high, 
Then the promised hour is nigh, 
Wake you, then, from joys divine, 
Come where sparkling bliss doth shine ? 
Free from sorrow, care, or pain, 
u Then, shall we three meet again. n 



I HE 

OLJ> WILLOW 



Seest thou yon old willow all witherM and grey ; 

That bends its lone head to the gale ? 
It waves o'er the grave of a maiden once gay f 

Of Mary, the pride of the Ale* ♦ 

The moss-cover'd stone presses hard on the breast 
That throbb'd pure *neath each feeling of love > 

The Teviot oft kisses the place of her rest, 
But its murmurs, once dear, cannot move* 
m% 



166 THE OLD WILLOW, 

Oh ! sad is her story — pure, happy, and gay s 
Her smile spoke the bliss of her heart \ 

Love lent its delusions to brighten each day \ 
Hope smiled— but it smiled to depart, 

Near the tree that waves o'er her, had infancy sped. 

Enlivened by friendship sincere j 
She knew not of sorrow — each hour as it fled, 

Fled unstain'd, save by pity^s bright tear, 

A father's kind love, and a mother's fond care, 
Watch'd the bud as it open'd to view : 

A fond ardent youth, with her parents, did share 
The love of a bosom thus true 



THE OLD WILLOW. 16*7 

In peace and contentment her days pass'd away ^ 
Her Edward was all she could deem > 

And 'twas here they would rove as the sun*s parting ray 
On thy groves, lovely Ancrum ! did gleam > 

How dear is the transport, when hearts thus combined > 

Repose on the bosom they love y 
The rapture they feel— is a rapture refined^ 

An emblem of bliss that's above. 

And theirs was that rapture— they dreamt but of bliss- ;■ 

But their visions were blighted in bloom- 
On ! who has beheld them all lovely as tb is ^ 
And not bitterly wept at their doom i 



168 THE ol» WILLOW. 

On a sweet summers eve— such as fancy would deem, 
Shone bright on our parents' first bower, 

They wander*d, all rapt, by the Teviot's sweet stream, 
Whilst their hearts own'd the bliss of that hour, 

Ah ! who has not felt each wild passion Aeeay 
'Neath the calm of an evening like this f 

What heart has not bent to the sweet soothing *ay^ 
And yielded his bosom to bliss ? 

Its calm on the heart of the fond ardent yaiiy 
Breathed all the enchantment of lt)Ve j 

They gazed there, in rapture, till dark as ttesjpair 
Grew the bright face of heaven above, 



THE OLD WILLOW. 165 

The eye that had gazed, till entranced with delight, 
Now shrunk at the lightning's red glare $ 

The heart that had worshipp'd the calm of that night , 
Now trembled— no calmness was there. 

The thunder burst o*er them— the lightning fiash'd by 
Whilst wildly she clung to his breast ; 

No retreat, save the old wither'd willow, was nigh \ 
No place, save the place of her rest. 

And thither he bore her, half lifeless ! dismay 'd ! 

She reclined on the bosom she loved, 
Whilst the lightning around them in mockery play'd, 

Bat for Mary alone was he moved* 



170 



THE OLD WILLOW. 



Flash followM on flash— Did the last pass her by ? 

Methinks she sleeps calm on his breast ! 
Then, why does he bend with that wild fearful eye ? 

The thunder disturbs not her rest ? 

* 

N[or cannot, alas ! for the bright eye is dim ! 

Nor opes as was wont to his call ; 
The heart sleeps in death that in life lived for him, 

No endearments that heart may recah 

'Neath the tree, where she perish'd, they dug her i 
cold bed, 

For there, whilst encircled with bliss, 
Had she mark'd the lone spot where she wish'd to belaid. 

When removed from the pleasures of this* 



THE OLD WILLOW, 171 

No requiem was chaunted to hallow the grave, 

Where reposes the pride of the Ale - 7 
No stone was erected- — no emblem to save i 

The willow alone tells her tale. 

But who the wild tale of her taver can tell, 
—None knew how it ended— or where— 

He beheld the cold form of the maid, he loved well, 
Consign'd to the earth, in despair I 

With ahand that seem'd tranquil and careless, he lower'd 

Her remains to their cold silent bed ; 
But, alas ! the dread scene each calm feeling o'er- 
power'd, 

One moment he gazed-— and then fled I 



/ 



172 THE OLD WILLOW, 

Her heart-broken parents beheld him depart, 
And with him fled what hope yet remained - 7 

None, none now was left, that could pleasure impart, 
One grave soon their ashes contain^ 

'Neath the old witherM willow, still fond lovers meet* 
To breathe out the soul-thrilling tale % 

But in midst of their rapture the tear falls to greet 
Young Man', the pride of tie Ale. 



SONG. 

Ob, Mart, in those hours of love, 
When every thought was fix'd on t 

I've sigh'd to think they e'er could prove 
As false, as thou hast proved to me. 



Thy smile was then, as it is now, 

Beguiling j but thy heart is changed ; 

I've heard thee often fondly vow, 
A love, that never, never ranged, 



174 SONG, 

Yet thou art gone — -I weep thee nc 
I gave one sigh to blighted love - 7 

Then, in another's smiles, forgot 

The smile that could so faithless prove, 

We meet, as if we ne'er had met ; 

We pass, unheeding, careless by > 
Thy heart was false, and I forget 

All that is past without a sigh, 



AN EVENING WISH. 



When sleep's pure odour in bliss descends, 
From the tranquil throne of the free an 

And over the couch, as- a mother bends, 

To woo the heart to a balmy rest ; 
Then, gentle spirit of night, be there, 
And waft my soul to a purer air. 
Where the visions of love, and the dreams of youth, 
Unmix'd with the sterner shades of trut 
Lye smiling in all the hues of bliss. 
As if wooing the heart to its virgia kiss ; 



176 AN EVENING WISH. 

Where the friends of the past are restored again, 
In the brighten'd hue of unchanging love 5 

And the dreams of youth, which were dreamt in vain, 
Grow bright in the feelings of bliss above. 

Oh, bear me afar to a smiling sky, 

Where the cloudless beams are for ever bright, 
Where the fairy phantoms of bliss do lye, 

And sport in the rays of an endless light *, 
Where the magic train of the fairy queen, 
In their silken attire of the sylvan green, 
Flit sportively over the daisied mead, 
To the magic sound of the oaten reed, 
With hearts untainted by mortal woe, 
Or the sorrow which poisons our Miss below j 



AH EVENING WISH. 177 

And, gentle spirit, when thou art gone, 

And the heart awakes from the dream of bliss, 

Then Fancy shall smile from her purpled throne, 
And waft me again to a scene like this* 



TO HOPE. 



Away, away, delusive maid, 

Thou art ever false and changing •, 
Brightening now the darkest shade, 

Now the heart from joy estranging : 
Youthful lovers hail thy smile, 

As the purest pledge of blessing ^ 
Aged bosoms own thy tfile, 

Cursing now— and now caressing. 



JAN 3Q19 5 ? 



TO HOPS. 173 



Fain the heart would bid adieu 

To thy fickle smiles for ever - 7 
Yet, without thee, none can do, 

Therefore, Rope, we must not sever— 
Though thy frowns be dark a while, 

Throwing o'er the heart its sorrow, 
They will fade before thy smile, 

And Joy will master Grief to-morrow. 



THE SND* 










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